


Jimi's Guitar

by Octobersxown



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Small Town, Bars and Pubs, Drunk Sex, F/M, Music, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-29 00:09:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8468311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Octobersxown/pseuds/Octobersxown
Summary: She met a beautiful boy in a dive, and ultimately, took a dive.





	

Jimi’s Guitar, obviously named for the late, great guitarist who’d met too early a demise, was easily the most popular (and only) bar in that small town outside of Memphis. The beer was usually pretty cold, always cheap, and there was never a cover charge. But what people loved most about it was the music. Though the place had been around forever, the owners had done well to keep it intact and the stage dominating most of the east wall was legendary in its own right. It retained a rustic, well-worn look, but the sound system was state of the art.

Some of the greatest names in music had played there, a majority of them before their big break came about. Aerosmith, Guns N’ Roses, The Doors. B.B. King had even given an hour long encore back in 1983. Though Jimi’s Guitar’s most exciting days were far behind it, there was no lack of respect from its patrons, who packed the place out faithfully every single weekend. Anyone who visited Memphis knew it was well worth the half hour drive to dance and drink the night away at Jimi’s. That included you and your friends. You’d been in Memphis for the past four days and had taken in every tourist attraction there was to see in town.

The large, electric blue neon guitar mounted over the entrance greeted all that entered. Outside, you could hear a cover band doing a fairly decent job covering Muddy Waters’ Champagne & Reefer. It was a cool, clear night, right at the end of summer, and as lightning cracked across the sky without a single sign of rain or thunder to follow, you couldn’t help but feel something. What that was, you weren’t sure but welcomed it. Maybe your last night in Tennessee would be the best by far.

There was clearly a divide between the convertible you and your friends chipped in to rent for vacation and the other cars scattered throughout the parking lot. There were motorcycles, pickup trucks, and not a single car in sight seemed to have been produced prior to 1997. It was all very enchanting in a way, and you hoped the people inside were just as kind as you pictured them all to be. You’d miss that Southern hospitality upon returning home.

There was no line at the door, just a beefy bouncer wearing a black t-shirt stretched across his muscles standing there menacingly. You assumed you wouldn’t be getting any sort of hospitality from any region out of him, and you were right. He carefully checked your IDs and waved you all inside. There was just enough room to move. Two bars lined walls opposite one another, both occupied by clearly thirsty patrons. There was no shortage of décor; nearly every spot of wall space was covered with something, be it more neon, framed photos of music legends, or signs enticing you to try their beer.

The dance floor just in front of the stage was filled with dancers young and old. The few people that weren’t dancing were sitting around at the mismatched tables, or waiting their turn to ride the mechanical bull. Denise, the loudest and proudest of your group quickly purchased a round of tequila shots; then a second, and a third. You were sure your lungs were on fire by the fourth round, sucking on a lime, which provided only a little relief.

The band announced they were taking a break. No one wasted any time rushing toward the jukebox, which was very old and positively charming. So much that it nearly called out to you. Fishing some change from the pocket of your shorts, you went to join, patiently waiting in the short line for your turn. You hardly heard the voice speaking to you, as you were in a world all your own. A nice, warm, buzzy world. And as the person in front of you turned around, a very nice face entered that world.

“Do you mind helping me out?” he asked, his green-eyed gaze sweeping over you before landing on your face. Breathing suddenly turned into a task. Though he talked funny, he was gorgeous, with nice cheekbones and a nice, strong jaw. Long, curly chestnut locks cascaded down his back, which appeared strong and defined underneath his white t-shirt. You were staring at his pouty pink lips as he spoke. They were really nice, too.

“Are you all right?” he questioned, which quickly reminded you that you’d yet to answer him.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m a little…drunk,” you explained with a sheepish smile. It wasn’t a lie but it also wasn’t the sole reason for your delayed response.

“No worries,” he assured with a smile that was also nice. He nodded toward the machine, pressing the left and right arrows, yet to make a selection from the lists of songs just behind the glass. “I’ve jammed a million quarters in here and while I knew what I wanted to hear a minute ago…”

It was then that you realized you’d forgotten which song you wanted to play, too.

“Nothing a little teamwork can’t fix,” you said, just as he moved aside a few inches to allow you beside him. God, he even smelled nice. What wasn’t nice about him? “What are you into?”

“Anything when I’m shit-faced. Like now,” he shrugged broad shoulders. It only clicked then that he was British, and not just slurring his words. Which he was, but that wasn’t why.

“Hmm,” you gave him a once over. “I’m gonna peg you for a classic rock kind of guy, among other things?”

“Impressive.” He crossed his arms, the left one heavily tattooed, but both lean and strong. It was all you could do to stop yourself from gasping when his biceps rose. You averted your gaze from those toward his face. That really…really nice face.

“I’m pretty good,” you giggled, on the hunt for what was among one of your favorite rock songs. The Who’s Eminence Front was in the queue in no time.

“No argument here. I’m Harry, by the way,” he offered his hand, three of his fingers adorned with rings. As you gave it a firm shake and told him your name, you couldn’t help but hope he planned on sticking around Jimi’s for a while. Maybe you’d get a dance out of the deal.

Together, the two of you worked to compile a playlist that would have sated anyone in the place. He’d just added The Rolling Stones’ (I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction when Denise showed up, curious about the guy you were chatting with. She threw an arm around your shoulders defensively.

“Hi, attractive white boy, who are you?” she asked, her usual lack of couth sending your hand flying toward your forehead. He laughed when it landed there with a smack.

“I’m her new mate, Harry. And you are?” 

“Denise! I don’t mean any harm. But we’re not from around here and I don’t trust people with penises,” she told him with a cheeky smile. He didn’t seem offended; if anything, amused.

“Totally understandable,” he glanced at you with a smile. “We are a sorry lot.”

“I’m so sorry… she is the way she is,” you told him, which only widened his grin.

Denise gave you a look you couldn’t quite read before setting her sights on Harry. “Do you like tequila, Harry?”

******

And that was how you wound up playing rather unorganized games of pool, in teams of twos. Harry’s friends had joined yours and they were just as interesting as he was. They, too, were from out of town, one of them from Los Angeles, another from somewhere in Texas, and the last from England too, Liverpool, to be exact.

Over the course of the past hour and a half, lots of tequila, a bit of beer, and loud, lively conversation had gone around. It was safe to say that you were wasted by then and enjoying every minute of it. While you weren’t very good at pool, Harry had been gracious enough to show you a few things. Past experiences warned you not to read into anything, to take that one night of no-strings-attached fun with those attractive boys for what it was, but that was hard to do, especially then with him behind you showing you the correct way to hold a pool stick.

“Lift your arm a bit,” he suggested gently, his fingertips lightly touching your elbow. “Half the battle is holding it properly.”

“Think I got it,” you told him. He gave you some room just as you drew your arm back, thrusting it forward again in an attempt to hit a ball, any ball. A victorious yelp flew from between your lips as a striped ball sank into a corner pocket.

“What are you doing, mate? She’s not even your teammate!” Connor, the other Brit, shouted. It was a wonder he even noticed with Denise sitting in his lap. How two people shared a single bar stool, you didn’t know, but you were impressed all the same.

Harry smiled at him while chalking up the tip of his stick. “Fuck off, Connor.”

“Too right, I will,” Connor retorted with a chuckle. And you had no doubt. Denise was a wild girl, and what she wanted, what she so clearly wanted, she would get.

You always hoped a little bit of her “go get ‘em” would rub off on you, but after nearly five years of friendship, that had yet to happen.

The game was over a few minutes later, after a fairly drunk Denise scratched the eight ball. Which wouldn’t have been so bad if she hadn’t been your teammate. Shrugging, you downed the apology shot she slid to you. You’d hate yourself the next day, where a hangover surely waited but in the moment, all was well.

“Would you like to dance?” Harry asked as you sat the glass down. While the thought of being in his personal space again would have been thrilling sober, you were absolutely delighted now. Hoping your legs wouldn’t fail you, you placed your hand into his and suddenly, that lightning in the sky at your initial arrival made sense. The touch between the two of you was electric, at least for you.

“Is this a pity dance because we lost? Cause I’ll take it, I just want to know,” you informed him as he led you through the sea of bodies toward the dance floor.

“Of course not. This was carefully calculated. I chose it specifically to ask you to dance with me,” he told you, smiling when you laughed. Still, you had no doubt he was telling the truth.

“I like the way you operate,” you said. The song was easily a favorite from Whitesnake, their 80s hit, Is This Love?

You knew you’d probably never see this guy again, that once tonight was over, he’d go on his way and you, yours. But being there with him made every hour of overtime you’d worked over the past few months to save for your vacation totally worth it.

You’d decided already that everything was easy for him; he had an effortless air about him. You tried not to be too obvious in studying him, the way he moved as he slow danced you around the bit of room that belonged to you and him in that moment. It seemed everyone else loved the song too, from the way they crowded the area, but that only meant you needed to be closer to him.

His arms were wrapped around your waist, just above the small of your back. You genuinely wanted them a bit lower but decided not to push it, letting your arms dangle loosely around his neck. Another couple bumped into you just so, forcing your chest right up against his. Out of respect (as well as in an effort to maintain self-control) you went to take a step back, only to feel his hold tighten around you.

“You’re fine,” he reassured you with a hazy smile, something flashing in his eyes. “Unless you’re not.”

“I am,” you responded quickly. Oh, he was good. Consent was not a word some men seemed to know or respect, and this only deepened your appreciation for him. Not to applaud him for basic decency, ideally, but realistically…

Far too soon, the song faded to an end. The band was taking their place onstage again and from where you stood, you had a pretty good view. The dance floor was getting even tighter and Harry, thinking quickly, moved to stand behind you. More space for everyone else, right?

It was only natural that his arms wound up around your waist again. It felt right to let your head rest on his shoulder as the pair of you took in the show. It was a tradition that every band’s second set include a nod to the bar’s namesake. This one, in particular, chose Purple Haze. The overhead lights cast a smoky blue one over the crowd, and you were sure it was getting you high, somehow. Or perhaps it was being in such close proximity to the hottie behind you.

Everyone knew Jimi’s music was infectious, and Harry didn’t at all seem to mind you dancing in front of him. It was hard to be still under the intoxication of that guitar. The tequila. The night. Harry.

Something started to stir in the pit of your stomach as something also started to stir behind you. You hadn’t really intended to excite him, but you could’ve gotten a worse reaction. Despite not knowing him, you felt safe.

You hoped he would be bold and it was like he read your mind. A chill traveled the length of your spine just as his lips pressed against the nape of your neck. The pit grew warmer, as did the general temperature between your legs. This, along with the sensation of his fingertips just above the waistband of your shorts, was almost too much.

 

******

 

The beginning notes of Voodoo Child were muffled from behind the bathroom door, which Harry now had you pressed against. You’d all but dragged him there not a minute before. The band had quite a repertoire, you noted, right as you turned the lock behind you. Chill bumps started to rise on your skin as he kissed your neck with such expertise, you wondered if he was the first in existence to discover erogenous zones.

You never intended to cause him any pain, but he’d snaked his hand into your shorts, and then the thin fabric of your panties and you were scratching his arm a bit. It was unfathomable that a mere touch in a specifically intimate place could send such a rush throughout your entire being, but there it was. He seemed to be enjoying it as much as you were, his breath warm and heavy against your skin as he redirected his focus to what was going on down below.

You’d never done a thing like this before but if it was going to happen with anyone, he was perfect. He knew what he was doing. He applied a bit more pressure to your clit, and you felt his lips spread into a smile as a quiet moan sounded in your throat. Whatever he planned to do, you were all in.

By the time he withdrew his hand, it was wet and sticky. He held his fingers out for you to see. The second your eyes landed there, spotting the evidence of what he’d caused, his tongue cleaned it from his fingertips, the action making you go weak in the knees.

Taking note of this, he led you to the sink counter, hastily clearing off space just for you before helping you hoist yourself upward. You wanted it just as badly as he did, if not more, but you also wanted to savor the moment. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you pulled him closer, knowing he wanted to kiss you just as desperately as you wanted him to. Your heart started to hammer in your chest as his lips crashed into yours, quick, hesitant pecks morphing into slow, sensual kissing.

He tasted like tequila and you were sure you did too. It only prompted you to slip your tongue past his lips, moaning against them upon feeling his hands underneath your shirt, gently caressing your sides. The mirror behind you was cool against your skin as he lifted the shirt, pulling back just long enough to get it over your head.

“I want you to fuck me.” You heard your own voice loud and clear, drunk with both alcohol and lust, words slurred.

“I’m going to, love. I promise,” he said, right before placing another kiss on your lips, lowering those that followed. Your hands were tangled in his hair as his teeth sank into your neck, your fingers tugging at the strands. It seemed he planned to be a bit rough with you and that was precisely what you wanted.

He placed an arm around your middle, lifting you up just enough to tug your shorts and panties over your ass and down your legs. As he let the garments fall from his hand, you reached out, fumbling with his belt, satisfied only when you managed to unfasten it. Shoving an uncoordinated hand through after yanking down his zipper, you were surprised at what you found there. He had a lot to offer. And all be damned, you were going to take it.

Harry had definitely heard you gasp after grabbing his dick, which undeniably fed his ego. “Could you handle it, sweetheart?” His voice was thick and even deeper than before, its husky quality even more apparent now.

You looked up at him with half-opened eyes, not quite sure but still fairly confident at the same time. The smirk he was wearing was turning you on, and he seemed to know it too. “Let’s find out.”

You pulled his hardness from his underwear, unable to keep your hands off of him. Drunk, the pair of you were, but not stupid. He was pretty sure he had a condom. And if he didn’t, you would go find Denise and borrow one from her, since she always carried them. Nothing was going to stop you from getting some of Harry. Not now, not when you were almost naked and waiting right in front of him.

Thankfully, he found one in his wallet, focusing on carefully getting it open. You took it from his hands and put it on him. His hands firmly gripped your thighs, pushing them apart. He was a big boy, he needed room to work. Your nails dug into his forearm as he pushed the tip against you, a long, heavy moan sounding once he sank into you.

“Fuck, Harry,” you muttered through gritted teeth. While he’d gotten you plenty wet enough, his size was not something you were accustomed to. His thrusts remained shallow and slow, giving you time to adjust. He was starting to feel really good and you told him so, your nails now scratching lightly at the back of his neck.

He lifted your legs a bit higher, remaining steady, his lips parted for a moment until he bit into the lower. You felt pretty damned good too if the constant stream of four-letter words coming from his mouth were any indication.

“You feel fucking amazing,” he said in a low, raspy tone, his voice alone causing you to tremble. He moved in for another kiss, a smart distraction as he gradually thrust deeper. You nearly pushed him away, feeling as if he was splitting you in half, but they didn’t call it liquid courage for nothing.

“A little harder,” you whined, just as his eyes met yours. He didn’t seem certain but you reassured him with a nod. He was drawing noises from you that you didn’t even know you could make. He was gliding in and out with ease now, your legs trembling in response. He pulled them tight around his waist, his hands gripping yours tightly as he pounded against you mercilessly.

His lips grazed your collarbone before moving lower still. He expertly unhooked your bra, letting it fall away from you and a shockwave went through your body when he bit your nipple, just hard enough before alleviating it with a sure, strong swirl of his tongue. He was good. He was so fucking good.

Harry didn’t leave any parts of you unattended. His hands touched and rubbed and squeezed you all over, and one might have thought he was in love with you. Or maybe he was just this attentive when doling out pleasure, which he was all too happy to do.

“You’ve gotta see this,” he said with enough conviction that your closed eyes sprang open to see what he meant. You were nearly there and from the way you were throbbing and tightening around his shaft, he was aware but he wasn’t ready for it to be over yet. He motioned for you to stand, his arms catching your hips after you struggled for a moment before proceeding to do. “Turn around for me.”

It was easily hotter than anything else you’d ever experienced. While you had been in the prime position to watch every incredible thing he was doing to you, you could now witness your reactions to them.

Bending you over the counter, he slowly slipped into you again, groaning low in his throat. The two of you had worked up a sweat by then, and you were sure you’d heard someone knock on the door, but he wasn’t finished with you yet.

“Oh my god,” you managed to push out. You could feel him even better in this position, pushing back against his thrusts as best you could. You wanted everything you could possibly get out of him. Bracing your hands against the edge of the counter, you watched him through the mirror, unable to suppress heavy moans. His hands traveled upward from your waist and landed purposefully on your breasts, which he massaged skillfully.

It was all you could do not to come completely undone as his kisses landed on your back and shoulders. It felt so good that trembling followed. You purposely squeezed around him, smirking after hearing him grunt. His hand landed hard on your ass as “punishment”, your pussy clenching in response, and you were fairly sure you were in love. It was just sex, you reminded yourself. Just. Sex.

Damn him for being so perceptive. Why couldn’t he just pound it out and get it over with like every other guy? He seemed to know exactly what you wanted when you wanted it and hadn’t been wrong yet. Just like he knew you were ready to come, like you’d nearly done two times already.

You didn’t know you were practically screaming until your chest was pressed against the counter top. He’d pulled your hands away from it and had your wrists crossed and clasped together against the small of your back. He’d left you defenseless and from the glimpses you could catch of his face, he was loving it.

“Come for me, love,” he coaxed quietly. His tone was gentle but he meant what he was saying, and was leaving you with no choice, having slipped his arm around, his hand between your legs, the tip of his middle finger carefully circling your swollen clit. One last, hard pump against the perfect spot sent you right over the edge. His arm caught around your waist just as your knees gave out.

Immense pleasure spread through your entire being, crashing into you like the heaviest of waves. You didn’t even try to stop yourself from shouting his name. All you wanted now was to tap out but he was right behind you, his strokes slower and deeper until he finally got what he needed out of you, too. And you were pleased to have been able to give it to him.

******

 

Much after that was a blur. You vaguely remembered seeing a short line of annoyed women outside the bathroom. You also remembered stumbling past them giggling holding Harry’s hand. You recalled Denise fussing at you and Harry for sneaking off, right before she congratulated you for having “the balls” to sneak off with him. There was no telling if you’d actually ever cross paths with Harry again, but still, phone numbers were exchanged. Los Angeles area code. Not too far from home.

You were still standing beside the car, laying kiss after kiss on him when Denise revved the engine, threatening to leave you behind. That wouldn’t have been the worst thing, But Jimi’s was soon shutting down for the night. That giant electric blue guitar was flickering now.

“Thank you,” you said to Harry, who’d just swept open the passenger door for you before helping you inside.

“Anytime, love. Call me sometime,” he grinned. But he meant it. And you would. You would definitely call “Tequila Harry”, aptly titled in your contacts as such via Denise. She pulled away just as you blew him one last kiss, right as lightning resumed flashing across the sky.


End file.
